


You'll Hear Me Howling

by dykeannebonny, ThirdActLove



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:55:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22068874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dykeannebonny/pseuds/dykeannebonny, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirdActLove/pseuds/ThirdActLove
Summary: The five times Geralt gives Jaskier what he needs, and the one time Jaskier returns the favor.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 44
Kudos: 1222
Collections: wiedźmin





	You'll Hear Me Howling

**Author's Note:**

> Don't let me in with with no intention to keep me  
> Jesus Christ, don't be kind to me  
> Honey, don't feed me, I will come back
> 
> -Hozier, "It Will Come Back"

**One**

If Jaskier thought about it--and he did, often--he would not describe his first time with Geralt as glamorous or magical or loving. It had been rather _fun_ , however.

After three days of perilous travel, they had found a clear blue pond. Geralt tied Roach to a tree, stripped, and waded in without a word. Jaskier did not follow immediately, because bathing near Geralt made him nervous. At first he'd blamed it on feelings of inadequacy. In time, however, he knew the heat in his belly was neither jealousy or insecurity.

So, he hated undressing near Geralt, too. Jaskier knew the risk. But there was blood in his hair, and _desperate times_ and all that.

He exhaled, jumped into the water. The cold saved him. In and out in record time, he was half dressed when he heard a voice over his shoulder.

"Come here," Geralt growled, low and husky and more bear than man.

Jaskier raised his hands to his shoulders, giggling despite himself. Nervous laughter never did get him in anything but trouble, and yet there it was, spilling out of his lungs in hiccupy bursts. "No! No, I know all about your 'come heres', thank you very much." He cringed involuntarily, remembering the last time he'd followed that order and been punched in the…

"Oh _no_ ," he whispered, horrified. He felt it, then: his raging erection, visible quite plainly beneath his silken briefs.

The time he took to freeze did him in in the end. There was a sizable splash, then some rummaging, and then Geralt reached him swiftly, three strides taken at most. Geralt's gloved hand flew through the air. Jaskier braced himself for the blow that never came. He opened one tentative eye to see Geralt's fingers grabbing his waistband.

There was no point in hiding his quite obviously _enthused_ cock, but Jaskier's arms crossed themselves in a feeble little ‘x’ all the same, his hands dropping down lower than even Geralt's. When his palm brushed the Withcher's bare wrist, Jaskier could have sworn. Instead, he remained silent, heart thudding like a drum against his suddenly very brittle ribcage.

Geralt was naked except for his leather boots and gloves. Geralt was, also, incomprehensibly attractive. Neither of those facts helped Jaskier's situation.

"I'm sorry," he blurted. The apology was pathetic even to his own ears. He watched Geralt watch him blush and squirm, and for all the time Jaskier had spent studying and singing about the Witcher, he couldn't decipher what was happening behind those yellow eyes.

"Please say something," Jaskier squeaked.

Geralt's silence was agonizing. Or maybe it was his hand in such close proximity to Jaskier's hard-on.

_Don't think about that don't think about that don't--_

Geralt used his free hand to lift Jaskier's chin. Jaskier hadn't even realized he had been staring down at their--well. He cleared his throat to apologize again, but Geralt warned him to shut up with a simple quirk in the left corner of his lip.

"Jaskier."

"Yes?"

Geralt frowned. Alright, shutting up wasn't Jaskier's strong suit. His chest fluttered when the hand on his chin came to rest at the hollow of his throat. Geralt didn't press, but the act wasn't without force, either.

"Tell me what you want," Geralt murmured. He licked his lips.

Jaskier stared.

"At a loss for words?" Geralt teased. _Teased_.

Jaskier's head spun. Surely he was dreaming. "I, I want..." Jaskier gasped.

Geralt's knuckles skimmed Jaskier's hip. "Yes?"

"I want you to fuck me."

Geralt unbuttoned Jaskier's trousers. He cried out when the cold air met his erection. Geralt's fingers were on him in seconds, though, bringing back warmth.

Jaskier stumbled out of his trousers, not for the first time wishing for more grace in his gangly limbs. Geralt walked with him, one hand still stroking, the other parting Jaskier's mouth. Jaskier nipped at his fingers, grabbed the glove between his teeth, and tugged it off. Geralt raised an eyebrow.

"I have many talents," Jaskier said. He hoped he sounded sexy. Judging by the twinkle in Geralt's eyes, he probably didn't.

Geralt backed Jaskier up a little more before splaying his palm on Jaskier's abdomen. Jaskier held still. He could barely breathe; his heart stuttered and his chest jumped while he stood absolutely statuesque.

Geralt spun Jaskier around and promptly lowered him to all fours on the ground. Jaskier was shaking. He took Geralt's fingers in his mouth when Geralt offered. Then, Geralt traced those wet fingers down the curve of Jaskier's spine. He worked him open expertly and Jaskier dug up piles of earth with his fists, too lost in the feeling to care about the dirt under his nails.

Geralt gripped Jaskier's sides. Jaskier gritted his teeth to quiet his shout, but it was useless. The first thrust caused his knees to buckle, and he slipped, Geralt's vice grip all that was keeping Jaskier upright with each additional snap of Geralt's hips. His pace was brutal, his cock larger than Jaskier had ever fantasized.

It was fast, hot, and messy. Long out of practice and overdue for a good fuck, Jaskier finished too soon. "Ger, _ah--_!" he yelled as he spilled onto the grass.

Geralt came with far more dignity. He drove Jaskier through his climax until Jaskier's toes curled and his body burned. Then Geralt stopped moving, uttering an incoherent swear that morphed into a low groan.

The world gradually swam into focus. There was a great deal of groaning once Geralt pulled out; Jaskier collapsed straight onto his stomach, knocking the wind from himself. He was cold and empty with Geralt gone. Wincing, he flipped over and looked for the Witcher.

Geralt was back in the pond like nothing had happened. Like time had reversed and Jaskier could only stare again. Laughing at his own naivety, he heaved himself off the slick grass and went to wash Geralt away.

**Two**

They laid on opposite beds in the inn. Jaskier clapped his feet together, squinting past them and pretending he was squishing the sword that rested against the wall. Forcing a casual tone, he interjected into the quiet, "We haven't talked about, hmmmm, y'know."

For a moment, Jaskier thought Geralt had drifted off. Then, he murmured sleepily, "There's nothing to say.”

“Right,” he agreed, pitch wavering dramatically. “I just bring it up because you’re very naked over there and I--”

“Jaskier.”

“Yes?” Jaskier asked too eagerly.

“Shut up,” Geralt answered too roughly.

The bard huffed. Biting down the petulant complaints he wanted to hurl across the divide, he simply went about composing in his head. Jaskier had many new songs to sing explaining many of Geralt’s new scars. The newest wasn’t even a scar yet, but a healing bite on Geralt’s thigh that was soon to resemble a mountain ridge… no, that was rubbish. Jaskier sighed heavily and bounced his legs.

Because he was recovering, Geralt was entirely undressed and wrapped in layers of thick, black fur blankets. The fire roared and crackled in the hearth, and Geralt seemed to be inhaling the scent as if it were fresh air. Perhaps he liked the smell of flames. It was certainly fitting for all his destructive tendencies.

Jaskier preferred florals. Roses and dandelions, fresh air and cut grass. But he could no longer think of the earth without thinking of how his hands had dug into it in pleasure. He blushed even then to recall that brisk afternoon.

To Jaskier’s left, Geralt grunted. Jaskier looked over to watch Geralt’s chest rise and fall in the slow pattern of sleep.

“So much for my ful- _filling_ night,” Jaskier muttered. He stood to find his bag and started undressing. The fire was warm enough and his clothes were worn; they couldn’t last another evening of tossing and turning.

He was on his way to the washroom when Geralt snatched his wrist. Jaskier jumped, yelped, and tumbled into Geralt’s arms. He ended up with one leg over Geralt’s knees, the other leg stretched toward the creaky floorboards, and his elbows on Geralt’s waist.

Jaskier exhaled raggedly. “Your fault,” he mused. His limbs were tingling when stuck at such odd angles.

“Your shuffling kept me awake.”

“And this is what, your bedtime routine?”

Geralt snorted before patting his lap and saying, “Come here.” His eyes were half-lidded, but Jaskier could see blown pupils and a hint of mischief, liquid night surrounded by molten gold.

Not needing to be told twice, Jaskier clambered fully onto the bed. He moved the furs away from Geralt’s body, drinking in hard muscles and sun-kissed skin. The wound was hardly anything at all in the low light: soft pink laced with white ridges, not a drop of blood to be found.

"Are you doing this to appease me or your bruised ego?" Jaskier inquired. It had been one of Geralt's harder fights, though with a foe Geralt had deemed 'less dangerous than my bard.' The thing had proved wickedly fast and toothy, much to Geralt’s chagrin.

"Do you care?" Geralt snarled, pulling Jaskier from his memories.

Jaskier smiled. "Nope."

He scraped his thumbnail on Geralt's cock. Geralt's eyes flew wide open and his hips jerked up. Jaskier repeated the action a little harder, mouth going dry as he witnessed Geralt-of-Utter-Self-Discipline arch his back and moan like a whore.

This was probably a terrible idea, because Geralt was too sensitive after the attack and still healing. Maybe Jaskier was a little terrible and selfish and didn't care since Geralt was fully hard already. His hands scrambled for purchase on Jaskier’s hips, and Jaskier had to bat him away.

“Pl-- _mm_ , please _wait_ ,” Jaskier panted. “As fun as this was before, I need…” He trailed off, regrettably needing to stand and find his bag again. He dug around until he found the small bottle he’d purchased in town.

Geralt’s eyebrows raised considerably when he heard the cork pop. “Presumptuous,” he grumbled.

Jaskier had a variety of retorts in his arsenal including _you love it_ , yet he found a shrug and silence were always received better by his reticent companion. Geralt had begun stroking himself lazily with Jaskier gone, and Jaskier once more swatted at him to comply. It was a risky move, though Geralt was yielding with a smug sort of grace only he could achieve.

Geralt crossed his arms behind his head as if Jaskier’s touch barely affected him. Jaskier knew better, of course; Geralt was grunting more than usual, and his cock throbbed as Jaskier slicked it in aromatic oils.

The Witcher wrinkled his nose.

“Oh,” Jaskier sneered, “you don’t like it?”

“Prefer to just smell you. What we’re doing.”

Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut. His ears burned bright red and he felt dizzy; he wondered if Geralt had any idea how that sounded or how it affected Jaskier. Geralt’s emotions--if he had any, actually--were notoriously difficult to decipher.

The easier task was reading Geralt’s body. Jaskier wrapped his hand around both of their cocks and pumped a few times. Geralt growled some semblance of a word that must have been _now,_ because his hands went from holding his head to cupping Jaskier’s ass and guiding him closer.

Jaskier clenched his thighs around Geralt’s body as he settled on top of him, taking the tip of Geralt’s cock into his body. He rolled his hips slowly, groaning and inarticulate until he had Geralt entirely inside of him, and smiled proudly when he tensed and Geralt nearly whined. 

Geralt bent his knees behind Jaskier, and Jaskier leaned back onto them. He bit his lip, relishing the gentle burn as Geralt thrusted into him.

Geralt dug his nails into Jaskier’s shoulder blades as he sat up and guided Jaskier down onto his back. Then he hoisted one of Jaskier’s legs onto his shoulder and kept that tempered pace.

“Your, your Witcher abilities, are they what make you so good at--”

Groaning, Geralt leaned down until his face was inches from Jaskier’s. Jaskier gasped and wound his hands in Geralt’s long hair, but he didn’t pull, too afraid it would dissuade Geralt from whatever he’d been planning.

The Witcher put his lips to Jaskier’s ear and murmured, “You talk too much.” He moved his mouth to Jaskier’s neck and bit down, licking over the spot and repeating the small bite until it was sure to bruise.

Jaskier writhed beneath him, rolling his hips, rutting his cock against Geralt’s abdomen. He inhaled sharply as the pressure inside him increased. “H-hey,” he stammered, tapping Geralt’s shoulder. “I’m close.”

No sooner had he said it than he was coming, painting Geralt’s chest and chin. Geralt wiped his face and, while making direct eye contact with Jaskier, put his own cum-covered fingers in his mouth. Jaskier whimpered.

Once Geralt was spent, he collapsed on top of Jaskier, his forehead pressed to Jaskier’s collarbone. They were both sweating and breathing heavily. Jaskier had the insane urge to kiss Geralt, but he abstained, instead moving off and away. Geralt did not stop him.

Jaskier sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly quite sad. “I.” He cleared his throat. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Hmm.” Geralt stretched on the furs, looking well-sated. Just as he had done earlier that night, he curled his hand around Jaskier’s wrist and tugged.

“Sleep here with you on this dirty bed? I don’t think so.” Jaskier’s giggle was about as hollow as he felt. He leapt to his feet before he could reconsider, wrapping his arms around himself as he dropped, exhausted, on an empty mattress.

He did not close his eyes until the fire died.

**Three**

Jaskier supposed, if Geralt was going to defend anyone’s honor--barring maidens, since the ‘hero code’ required such chivalry--it would be another witcher’s. Geralt packed his bags the morning he received the news about the guild traitor, and he was arranging Roach’s saddle when Jaskier approached later that afternoon.

Although Jaskier was not keen to chase after another beast or run beside a horse for the week, he would have liked to be invited. He strummed his lute aimlessly, strolling through the stables. Each new note produced earned an irritated huff from Geralt. Jaskier beamed.

He was definitely intruding upon Geralt’s personal space, but Jaskier liked to think they were past all that considering their… previous encounters. He glanced around to ensure they were alone, then, confident they were, drew his hand across Geralt’s broad shoulders.

“Were you going to say goodbye?”

“Yes,” Geralt answered. The admission surprised them both; Geralt’s eyes widened and deep lines appeared in his forehead, while Jaskier gaped like a dead fish.

Quickly, Jaskier recovered his wits and pointed victoriously. “I knew it!”

Incredulous as ever, Geralt raised his eyebrows. “Knew what?”

_That you cared_ , Jaskier wanted to say. He bit his tongue, crossed his arms, and chuckled, pretending he didn’t have a good answer. Only Roach seemed to sense the ruse, whinnying and snorting in Jaskier’s hair.

“Thanks, girl,” he reproached her. Ignoring the congratulatory pat she received from Geralt, Jaskier stepped away so that he had to speak over his shoulder. “I hope you’ll give me something to remember you by,” he suggested almost casually.

That suggestion brought Geralt and Jaskier to the bathhouse, where Geralt paid for a private room and no questions. The water was hot and the tiles smoothe, for which Jaskier was grateful, as he wound up on his knees in the shallow pool.

Steam rolled across the floor. Jaskier’s nails scrabbled for purchase against the sleek marble surface, and he cursed when he found nothing to hold. Jaskier was half out of the water, Geralt’s hands on Jaskier’s ribs, Geralt’s cock buried deep at an angle that made Jaskier completely incoherent.

After another scattered moment, Jaskier pushed himself off the floor and stretched his arm back behind Geralt’s head. Geralt smirked against Jaskier’s cheek, sunk his teeth into Jaskier’s shoulder, and rolled his hips. Jaskier dug his nails into the Witcher’s neck.

Jaskier certainly got something to remember Geralt by, and then some. The days without him were a little longer, sunrises always a little greyer, but Jaskier found a wayward bruise or scratch intermittently that inspired a few private recollections.

The bard drank his ale, sang his songs, and waited.

**Four**

“Where are you going?”

After the wedding ceremony had concluded, Geralt had claimed a stake in a dangerous game, promptly exited, and left Jaskier to his happy-tears. Jaskier had no interest in crying alone--the friendly woman clinging to his arm did not count--so he’d followed.

Because he knew the more secretive paths in the palace, Jaskier managed to cut Geralt off. Geralt blinked, unaccustomed to Jaskier’s small victories. They stood in a ridiculous parody of a showdown, Geralt calm and collected, Jaskier red-faced and fully aware of how hysterical he looked.

“I told you to have fun with your court ladies.” Geralt’s face was completely blank. He marched past Jaskier at a quick and dismissive pace.

Jaskier stopped walking and threw his hands high in the air. “Don’t you get it, you stupid, stoic, fucking emotionless, borish, thick-headed bufoon? I don’t want them! I want _you!_ ” 

Geralt was silent, but then again, Geralt was always silent. Jaskier could not tolerate it any longer. He approached Geralt without caution, without pretense, and grabbed his collar. “You can’t just fuck me when it’s convenient!”

“I thought that’s just the way you liked it,” Geralt barked. He bared his teeth and glared.

Jaskier shook him. “You bloody coward. Do I have to sing it, huh?” Rage exploded out of him like a lightning bolt. “Will you listen to me! I lo--”

Seething, Geralt shoved Jaskier toward the wall. Jaskier’s head hit the stones and he winced.

“Ow,” he complained, anger abating with the pain. “Why…?”

Geralt shut him up with a kiss. He bit Jaskier’s lips and swallowed his moan, palming his cock under his trousers. He stripped him urgently, not even bothering with the tunic or jacket, but ripping his pants to the ground.

Jaskier beamed. He unlaced Geralt’s absurdly tight leather pants, then fell to his knees. Licking the length of him, Jaskier took as much as he could, handling the rest with one fist, himself with the other.

“Fuck.” Geralt’s head lolled back. His hips stuttered forward, but he was holding himself back.

An obscene pop echoed down the corridor when Jaskier pulled off. “I know you want to,” he offered, voice husky and throat raw. He took Geralt’s hands and placed them at the nape of his own neck.

Geralt swiped his thumb across Jaskier’s bottom lip. “Another time,” the Witcher replied. “Right now. Hm.” He didn’t bother to finish, rather, he leaned down and hoisted Jaskier into the air.

Jaskier flailed, only finding balance when he hooked his legs over Geralt’s waist and crossed his ankles. His fingers went to their favorite place: Geralt’s coarse hair. “Oh, fuck me,” Jaskier whimpered as his back--but nothing else--hit the wall.

“That’s the idea.”

Geralt thrust inside with as much force as he’d swing a broadsword. Jaskier shouted, sliding down the stones until Geralt bore vigorously into him. Jaskier was loose and wine-drunk, hoping he could last a little longer than what his throbbing cock suggested.

Wrapped around Jaskier, Geralt barely seemed burdened. Indeed, he smiled whenever Jaskier found the strength to look at him, and kissed him whenever Jaskier made the slightest sound.

It was Geralt who climaxed first, and Jaskier only seconds after, both men nearly incomprehensible as they spoke each other’s names. Jaskier gulped in air while Geralt huffed only once. Jaskier had given up being jealous of Geralt long ago, but he’d never cease being absolutely, irrationally frustrated with him for his composure.

Jaskier was a little afraid Geralt would drop him after they separated, but he didn’t; Geralt guided Jaskier’s feet to the floor and kept him pinned gently to the wall by holding both his hands. Jaskier was boneless, sticky, and aching. He was also elated.

Again and again, they kissed. Jaskier, for the second time that evening, sobbed with joy. His heart could have burst--it was trying to, if his breathlessness was any indication--out of his chest and he’d have died a happy man.

They finally stopped for air. Geralt pressed their foreheads together, a chuckle breaking past his glare. “You’re insufferable,” he whispered.

“Well, you are _literally_ a pain in my ass. So.” Jaskier waved his hands sporadically as he struggled back into his wrinkled trousers. “Yeah.”

Geralt snorted and held onto Jaskier tightly. They basked in the afterglow for awhile, the bard and the White Wolf, and eventually left the palace to watch the sunrise from the woods. Jaskier could have written a thousand ballads on the color orange and the way it colored Geralt’s face.

But no, that was a sight for Jaskier alone.

**Five**

The house crumbled, and Jaskier crumbled with it. All this because he couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut, had to poke fun at Geralt’s insomnia and the genie hunt. They had spent all morning fishing together when Jaskier had been too bored to carry on, and now…

Jaskier sat in rubble and mud. Blood coated the front of his tunic, and he stared at it, his horribly active and cruel imagination trying to show him how much blood would come from a crushed witcher.

“Gods,” he grieved, tears running hot down his sooty cheeks. Jaskier was not one to pray but he did anyway, because he was well and truly out of options.

“Bard!” the elf-guard called. He sounded about as distraught as Jaskier felt.

Jaskier didn’t want to pay him any mind. The guard, however, had other ideas; he called and then came over, half-dragging Jaskier to the lower level’s windows. “What, _what,_ ” Jaskier hissed.

Then he saw them: Geralt and Yennefer, on the floor, Yennefer hardly dressed. Jaskier wasn’t sure what they were up to. That pesky imagination was filling in the gaps again.

Still, his voice carried relief and rage combined as he yelled, “What the fuck, Geralt!”

Geralt slowly raised his head to look outside the stained glass. Jaskier was surely a comedic sight with his hands on his hips and knees caked in filth.

Jaskier raced to the side of the house, searching for a door. Without requesting permission, he burst through the nearest one--unlocked, thankfully, since he was more likely to break himself in half than ever smash down a door--with the accusations already flying in his rapid-fire, high-pitched manner.

Yennefer was waving farewell and stepping through a portal. Geralt, resting upon hundreds of multicolored cushions, nodded curtly at her. Once she’d vanished, Geralt turned his piercing gaze on Jaskier.

“I missed the last part, what was it, I’m a foul, cockless, I think you said…” He let his mockery hang in the air, so stifling that Jaskier coughed and steadied himself on the doorknob.

“I have just careened and cartwheeled down a hill, no, a _mountain_ of emotions and you mock my pain?” Jaskier placed his palm over his heart. “I’m wounded.”

He stepped tentatively forward, smile fading as he noted some of Geralt’s injuries. The Witcher clutched his ribs carefully, and his face was littered with small cuts and bruises. Casting aside his earlier ire, Jaskier rushed to his side.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said, overlapping Geralt’s protests. He collapsed next to him. “I was foolish and the cause of all this, and I could have gotten you killed.”

Geralt pulled Jaskier nearer, heaving a long-suffering sigh as he folded Jaskier against his chest. “Quit your jabbering, Jask. I’ll live.”

Jaskier clung to him desperately. “I don’t believe you.”

Tucking his face in Jaskier’s neck, Geralt hummed a note that rumbled like thunder.

“No, you can’t prove it.” Part of him had just experienced losing Geralt, and it was difficult to erase, no matter the reassurance of his weight around Jaskier.

Geralt ghosted his lips across Jaskier’s jaw. Sliding his hand over Jaskier’s thigh, Geralt murmured, “I can.”

Jaskier shuddered as hot breath hit his skin. He knew this mood well; the post monster-slaying adrenaline rush, usually an exciting and gloriously hurried occasion. Except none of those had been nearly near-death enough to warrant the way Jaskier's chest had collapsed when Geralt was trapped in that room. The hole he'd unintentionally left was an endless cavern in Jaskier's chest.

He craned his head back so he could kiss Geralt, taste him, confirm how solid and unmistakably _alive_ he was. “Please,” he whimpered into Geralt’s mouth.

Geralt nodded, slipping his hands under Jaskier’s waistband and stripping him slowly. Jaskier pulled his own bloodstained shirt off. He listened as Geralt unfastened the many buttons of his new jerkin, the threads ripping in his haste.

Jaskier moaned when he pressed backwards and hit Geralt’s bare chest. Geralt hooked his fingers under Jaskier’s thigh, then settled Jaskier’s leg farther back onto his own hip. His cock brushed against Jaskier’s entrance, yet he withdrew slightly, replacing his cock with two fingers.

Geralt stretched Jaskier gently until he strained in his hold. His other hand went to Jaskier’s knee and tugged, the movement synchronizing with another finger being pushed inside. Jaskier keened, and Geralt held him in place while he fucked him--his other arm wrapping over Jaskier’s shoulders and chest to hold him--, all his speed coming from the desperate snap of his shoulder. Jaskier came without Geralt ever having to touch his cock.

Jaskier could still feel Geralt’s hard cock pressed against his back. Though he was still shaking from the force of his own orgasm, he managed to turn enough to get his hand around Geralt’s length. He pumped him lazily, leisurely, enjoying the way Geralt’s breaths caught as he got closer.

He shuddered and then spilled over, enveloping Jaskier in a hot and heady scent, something musky and sharp. Jaskier held Geralt through his wave of pleasure. Then he kissed him again, trying to hide the tears welling in his eyes.

“I’m awake,” Jaskier said quietly, earnestly. “This is real.”

Geralt took Jaskier’s face in his hands. He smoothed down the mussed bits of Jaskier’s hair, brushed the fallen tears away, and repeated Jaskier’s affirmations.

Jaskier asked, “Will you tell me what happened?”

And Geralt did.

**Six**

Jaskier had complained earlier in the evening about Yennefer’s courtly construction, a massive grey tent brought by her late knight escort. In comparison, Jaskier and Geralt’s tent was positively puny; Yennefer likely magicked her way into a real bed, whereas Jaskier had a thin palette and a single blanket.

Of course, he thought rather smugly, Yennefer didn’t have his view. He wouldn’t trade that for all the furs in Rinde.

Geralt, as naked and muscular as a man could be, finished washing his face and poured out the grimy water on the grass. Then, he turned toward Jaskier. Stepping closer, Geralt crouched and crawled over his companion, a mock-warning in his golden eyes.

“What?” Jaskier smiled into the question.

“No more poems about my arse. We agreed.”

Jaskier threw himself on his back, exhaling melodramatically. “Oh!” he wailed. “Great Geralt of Rivia, censoring art--!”

Geralt collapsed onto Jaskier, letting his weight knock the breath from the bard. Jaskier exclaimed wordlessly, gaping. Geralt apologized with a kiss, letting up so he could loom slightly above Jaskier.

“I am weak, love, and I am wanting…” Jaskier half-sang, half-whispered his latest ballad’s lyrics as his fingers glided delicately along Geralt’s face, the pressure in his chest building to a giddy grin that left him incapable of bringing forth the rest of his song. He stopped at the corner of Geralt’s mouth, and Geralt smiled before turning to kiss Jaskier’s palm.

The kisses didn’t stop at Jaskier’s hand; Geralt shifted over him, dipping his head so he could make a trail down Jaskier’s arm, to his shoulder, across his collar. He curled his arms around Jaskier’s waist and cradled Jaskier against him.

“I am wanting,” Geralt continued instead, slowly rolling until his back was pressed to their bed, and Jaskier was lying above him, “for you to do what pleases you.” He reached next to them and fumbled blindly in Jaskier’s pack, handing him an amber vial.

Jaskier’s stomach didn’t just flip; it spun over and over until it ricocheted into his lungs and destroyed his entire air supply. After a few seconds, he found language was available to him again and asked, “Have you, before, I mean…?”

Geralt was shaking his head in the middle of the question. “Once. I’d like to try again, with you, if you wish.”

“Yes,” Jaskier breathed. He uncorked the thin glass and poured a generous amount of slick, unscented liquid in his palm. Clenching his fist, he spread the oil evenly, all the while unable to tear his gaze from Geralt’s.

Jaskier pressed an oil-slick finger inside him, his hands shaking. Geralt’s eyelids fluttered closed. “More.”

“Are--are you sure--”

“Jaskier.”

“Yes, quite,” Jaskier breathed, adding another. He worried his lip as he worked Geralt open, hooking his fingers occasionally to brush a tender spot that made Geralt writhe and groan. His mouth he kept at Geralt’s neck; tugging at his earlobe, licking his throat, whispering sweet-nothings. His hand squeezed Geralt’s thigh gently, reassuringly, until Geralt was actually trembling.

“ _Oh, Gods_ ,” Jaskier moaned noisily as he switched his fingers with his cock. Geralt was hot, tight; Jaskier had famously had many people, had been _had_ by many people, but this was something else entirely. He thrusted into Geralt at a steady rhythm just shy of too fast. Judging by Geralt’s enthusiastic response--wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s neck, threading his fingers in the back of his hair, and _pulling_ \--it was exactly right.

They shared a messy, open-mouthed, teeth-dragging, bruising kiss. Jaskier gave some attention to Geralt’s cock where it slid against his belly. Geralt, with his superhuman stamina, seemed to lose all such fortitude as Jaskier shoved deeper. He felt so good around him, taut but flexible.

Jaskier’s rhythm was impeccable; he was, after all, a highly skilled musician. He knew when to build and when to take. His voice hitched, hitting every octave in a long, resounding moan. He thought he wanted to close his eyes and savor the climax, but Geralt drew his eyes directly to his.

Geralt made a sound like he'd just won a particularly strenuous battle, then went still. Jaskier removed himself gently--trying not to smirk, and failing miserably. He rolled into Geralt's outstretched arm and was truly content in the silence. Not for long, of course, but enough to memorize the lines of Geralt's flushed grin.

After a minute or so, Jaskier hummed. The note took on a life of it's own as his music usually did.

"Shut up," Geralt said fondly.

Propping himself on his elbows, Jaskier played with a few sweaty strands of Geralt's hair. Geralt's face glistened with perspiration that trailed all the way down his neck and chest and... Jaskier could really, really get used to the view.

He plucked at Geralt's abdomen--breathing evened out already, damn him--and sighed loudly until he had stolen Geralt's attention again. The Witcher only grunted, feigning disinterest, though his smile betrayed him.

"I was just thinking," Jaskier explained, starting the thought as if he hadn't made Geralt prompt him, "that I need to write a new song."

Geralt didn't speak. Jaskier jostled him.

"Right." Laughter sparkled on Geralt's vowels. He shifted so he could press his face into Jaskier's neck and inhale deeply. "What song?"

"Huh?" Jaskier was so stunned by the cuddling that he forgot why he had started bothering his companion. "Oh, oh yes." He pressed his lips to Geralt’s temple, breaking into bursts of laughter before he managed to complete his thought. “A song about the man who bested Geralt of Rivia.”

Affectionately, Geralt replied, “You little shit,” then wrestled Jaskier underneath him. 

Jaskier continued shouting, “Dominated? Conquered!” even while Geralt’s hands smothered the words. Jaskier’s laughter was boisterous and never-ending until he dissolved into hiccups, tears in his eyes.

“That’s what you get,” Geralt whispered, devoid of any real malice. He flashed that rare smile, wide and sharp, before schooling his face back into its customary glower.

Jaskier’s chest was tight. Geralt was naked plenty of the time, but he’d never been that exposed to Jaskier _._ If Jaskier were to recount that look, he’d hazard _vulnerable_ as the perfect adjective.

Biting his lip, Jaskier tilted his head to the side and stared up at Geralt. He held the Witcher’s face, kissed him sweetly, and asked, “Will you come away with me?”

Geralt closed his eyes. “Jask…”

“Why is it so unreasonable?” Jaskier prompted, treading carefully into his next question. “Am I, um.” He cleared his throat. “Am I not enough for you?” He sucked his teeth, well aware of how pathetic he sounded. 

“Witchers don’t run off to the coast to play house.”

“Need to slay a few dragons to keep it up?” Jaskier joked weakly.

“I’m not going to--”

“I know you’re not going to kill--”

“It, exactly, and there will be trouble when we--”

Jaskier grinned. “‘We,’ then? Have I proven myself a worthy travel companion once more?”

Geralt tilted his head. “Worthy fuck, perhaps.” He hummed a laugh, and leaned down to kiss Jaskier’s mouth as he feigned offense. Both their expressions sobered, though, when Geralt pulled back to meet Jaskier’s gaze.

He loved Geralt’s eyes. He never said as much, to spare Geralt pain, but Jaskier often thought he would be happy to be lost in them. He slid his hand over Geralt’s jaw. They kissed gently, further words unnecessary as the day shifted into night.

Jaskier thoughts drifted easily as he fell asleep in Geralt’s arms. He decided, if asked, that he would not describe his time with Geralt as glamorous or secure or easy.

However, being in love never was.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Thank you!


End file.
